


Golden Slumbers

by EmSheshan



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, M/M, Sick Character, Siren!Paul, Urban Fantasy, Vampire!John, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27025945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmSheshan/pseuds/EmSheshan
Summary: "The secret to life buried in there?" John called with a sneer. But to his surprise, George merely kicked off his shoes in response and started to peel off his socks. The earthy aroma around George got stronger."Oi, what're you doing?" John snapped, and before he could do anything, George slid his bare feet into the dirt and stood there, like a tree.---In which John learns something new about his human friend George.
Relationships: George Harrison & John Lennon, George Harrison/John Lennon
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Golden Slumbers

"Tomorrow, you have a show at ten, and then you'll have to leave for a flight at midnight. Then, you'll have to get up early for a photo—"

"Aye, we get it, Brian," John grumbled.

"I'm just saying, it'd be good to sleep now on the plane," Brian calmly replied.

Paul nodded and stretched his legs out.

"Oh, and Paul?"

"Hmm?"

"You're going to have to dye your hair again. Your roots are showing."

"I know," Paul muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "Haven't had much time to sit down and take care of it."

Brian gave a nod of the head and stood, crossing over to where the rest of the staff and roadies were. Good riddance too, in John's opinion. 

"Dye your hair, I mean, it's bullshit, innit?" he spat at Paul.

"It's for our image," came Paul's response.

"Mal's nine feet tall and Eppy doesn't make him cover it up," John argued. "I'm sick of it."

"You weren't sick of it when touring started," Paul pointed out.

"Yeah, well I am now," John grumbled. " _Sleep on the plane. Like hell I can do that,_ " he murmured under his breath. Paul just sighed. John was simply stressed and not much else. Touring had been stressful, and Paul knew that John hadn't much time to unwind. 

"When was the last time you drank?" Paul asked.

"A week ago? Dunno," John said. 

"You should probably feed, then," Paul hummed and soon began to rifle through his bag, looking for a book to read. 

"Your hair looks better without the dye," John said. "All shiny, like sea glass."

"I don't know what you're getting at, but I'm not going to stop dyeing it."

John snorted and folded his arms. Paul simply shook his head and held the book with one hand, the other scratching his forearm. His talons were growing back in, as were his feathers. He needed to take care of that, soon.

It was Brian's idea, really, to pretend to be humans. He explained it as an appeal to the underdog. There was a certain spectacle to be seen with a band of mythical creatures, but also in the idea that anyone, even regular unremarkable humans can become famous. Much to John's chagrin, Brian was right. The amount of popularity and fame that the band had garnered was immense, and a lot of it came from their supposed humble origins. 

"Too bad Ringo's asleep," John mused. "Oh, George?"

Silence. 

"Oi, Georgie!" John snarled, kicking his seat. "Wake up!"

"I was awake," George muttered, eyes dark and half-lidded.

"Aye, but you're off on another planet," John said. "Anyroad, I'm thirsty. You open?"

George sighed, and shook his head.

"I want to get off this plane," he said. "I want to go home."

"I can put you to sleep if you'd like," John offered. "You'd probably need it too—"

"John, he needs to rest, not lose his blood," Paul said. "Go ask Mal."

"...George's tastes better, though," John grumbled but still rose. He wandered down the aisle in the same direction as Brian, and Paul turned his attention towards George.

"Just try to sleep, alright?" he said, being gentle with his voice. George looked sick, pale and sweaty, clutching his knees to his chest.

"Can't. Planes make me sick," George said.

"I know."

"Can you sing me to sleep?" George asked.

"I can't," Paul whispered, "not with all these people around."

George frowned and proceeded to glance at the closed plane window before settling his gaze on Ringo, snoozing peacefully.

It was hard for Paul to emphasize with his friend. After all, he was a born siren and could sprout wings if he wished. The plane jetting across the skies and sea brought him a great calm. But still, he's not a plain human like George. He can't really understand why anyone would be afraid of flying, but he's learned to keep his mouth shut.

It's easy to pretend to be human, Paul mused, iridescent hair glowing against his shiny claws.

When they got off the plane, John was sated, Ringo was well-rested, Paul was restless, and George…

Well, George looked exhausted, but there was nothing they can do about that. Everything moved like a blur, people running about under the flash of cameras and lights. John physically couldn't become tired, as a vampire, he doesn't need to sleep, but he didn't bother with smiling and waving. Ringo was cheerful enough, though, and Paul always made sure to be as charming as possible. In a way, both him and John pretend to be the fool, two simple-minded humans against the world.

They're ushered through several cars and rushed to the back-door of their hotel. As usual, John's the fastest one in and out, while George trailed behind, desperate for the last breaths of fresh air he'd be able to get for the rest of the day. They're boxed in, trapped for every second of their lives. 

But still. They're in and John's already throwing himself on the bed, his ass sore from his horrendous slouching in the cheap airline seats. 

"Hey," John called out into the room. " _Get me a drink,_ " he hissed into the air, glaring at the rest of them. Paul knew this trick, John's hypnotism. With a glare, John could command the lesser minds of the people around him. But much to John's disappointment, he couldn't get much use out of it. People would only do things they wanted, and Ringo wanted to help his friend out and promptly stood up to fetch a glass of water. 

It had never worked on George and only a few times on Paul. Brian ended up falling for it almost every time. 

John took his glass of water, disappointed that Ringo didn't get something alcoholic but too lazy to try again. He sipped and stared as George wormed into the bed and stared out the window. Poor lad looked knackered and ill, just like when they first arrived in America. George never had a strong constitution and all the traveling seemed to have taken its toll.

"Catch a kip, Haz—"

John wasn't able to finish because a girl, a harpy with brown, stubby wings, came hurtling towards the window. Her talons scraped across the glass and she was excitedly screeching, trying to claw her way in.

"I fuckin' hate birds," John spat as he drew the curtains closed and rang up hotel security. Paul shot him a look.

"Not you," John huffed.

George curled up and buried himself under the blankets while they waited for security to take care of the fan, which happened when she shrieked and the scratching stopped.

Paul took a pocket-knife and headed to the bathroom to trim his nails, and Ringo sat down on the couch, John following, letting George rest. He was pissed that Brian didn't let George go to a hospital with how sick he's been, but deep down he has a nagging feeling that it's all an act. They've had doctors come in and say he's fine, and George has been playing the shows with relative ease. It's more of an emotional sickness if anything.

 _It'll go away when they're back home,_ everyone said. And John accepted that because he didn't want to think about it anymore.

Soon, it was seven, and Paul had finished his grooming, looking clean and polished. John was thankful that his fangs hadn't grown in as long as other vampires; Brian would have made him cap them off for sure. 

By eight, the three of them were in an intense game of cards, Ringo winning the majority of their games due to sheer luck.

"Are you sure you're not a leprechaun?" John grumbled as he folded his hand.

"That, or he's cheating," Paul chimed, lounging on the plush carpeting.

"I'm just better at cards than you two," Ringo said. "Nothing more to it."

_Click._

John's head turned sharply at the sound, it having come from the door.

"George…?"

A glance at the upturned bed told John that yes, George just walked out of the hotel room. A wave of anxiety churned in John's gut as he poked his head out the door to check. And then it just occurred to him how odd that was. He was afraid to exit his hotel room, something that no one should fear. It didn't matter if he was human or not, it was his entire world that was unnatural.

John heard the ding of the elevator and saw the doors slide closed in front of George. Was he going up or down? Why? Where would he go, what would he do?

The light next to the elevator flashed an arrow pointing downwards and John quickly ran out to catch the stairs. Even though he was a vampire and supposed to have super speed, he cursed the fact that their room was on the eighth floor.

John hustled as fast as he could, practically flopping off of the stairwell, panting. But before he could rest, he heard the elevator and a gasp.

" _Don't bother 'im!_ " John hollered out to everyone in the lobby, willing them to ignore George stumbling out of the lift with a dazed look. John crossed over to him and hissed in his ear, "You're a fuckin' idiot, wandering out like that."

"I jus' need some fresh air..." George mumbled.

"No. Abso-fuckin-lutely not."

"John, please," he whimpered. "Jus' for a moment, _please._ "

Maybe it was the fact that George was barely standing on his own or the fact that he was saying please which he never says, but John groaned and took George's hand.

"Fine. A short walk," he grumbled, thankful that it was late enough that the sun was gone. George seemed thankful, and as soon as they were out of the building, John noticed a sweet smell coming off of George. It smelt like honey and oak and cherries. "You wearing perfume, mate?" he asked with a small chuckle.

"Mmhnn," George hummed, shaking his head. 

They walked around dark alleyways and backstreets, avoiding the main crowds. Brian would have a fit if they had walked out on the main streets if he wasn't already panicking about their sudden disappearance. They turned and weaved through the narrow passageways, George instinctively turning at specific junctions to lead them to a park. 

A somewhat large park, if a bit sparse. Perfect for playing Frisbee or catch or in George's case, staring at a pile of dirt. John wanted to say something, but he found it funny that George was enthralled by the exposed soil. He just stood there, pondering it like some kind of philosopher.

"The secret to life buried in there?" John called with a sneer. But to his surprise, George merely kicked off his shoes in response and started to peel off his socks. The earthy aroma around George got stronger.

"Oi, what're you doing?" John snapped, and before he could do anything, George slid his bare feet into the dirt and stood there, like a tree.

 _He's really knackered,_ John thought. And then, he jumped in shock.

George's skin burst open like a cocoon and long, spindly tendrils came out and wove together as they reached up towards the sky. His body was warping, changing, bending in a way no human bones could. He kept growing, more limbs spreading out to create a roof as golden leaves and petals burst out of the hardened, black skin.

And at the end of it all, John was left standing in the park next to a tree. 

"Ge—" 

He couldn't even speak.

"G-George?" he asked, slowly and cautiously touching the bark. It was relatively smooth. 

He doesn't really remember what happened next but John found himself in a phone booth calling Brian, desperately trying to explain what happened.

"He turned into a tree, Bri— he's a fuckin' _tree!_ "

" _Calm down, John,_ " came Brian's calm voice over the phone. " _Can you see him?_ "

"Yeah, he's in the park, the one near the hotel, he's the one with the golden leaves—"

" _Okay. I'm coming over, alright? Don't move._ "

_Click._

John stayed there for a moment, hunched over the phone. He knew Brian didn't believe him at all, but…

He glanced back at the tree.

...it didn't matter. 

It took about fifteen minutes for Brian to arrive with Mal looming over his shoulder.

"Alright, John, let's have a look at your tree," he said, sighing.

"It's this one, it's George," John said, pointing.

"I see. Are you high?" Brian asked.

"What— no!"

"Where's George?" Mal asked.

"Why don't you believe me? I'm not lying!" John snapped. "It's really him!"

Brian sighed. "Lennon, people don't just spontaneously transform into trees."

"Maybe a witch did it—"

" _Lennon,_ " Brian growled.

"I'll— I'll prove it!" John shouted, and before Brian could intervene, John pulled down his pants and did the only thing he could think of to wake George up.

He pissed on the tree.

It took two seconds, two seconds of Mal and Brian standing back out of shock and disgust before the tree moved, branches morphing into a vague claw-like shape and swiping at John, cutting his cheek. The arm then retreated, folding back into the canopy of leaves.

"George!" John shouted. "Wake up!"

The tree did not move.

"I'll fuckin' piss on you, you cunt!"

"...for Christ's sake, Lennon," the tree grumbled, changing shape again, this time a torso emerging. It was George, arms crossed over his rest, partially merged into the trunk of the tree. "...I'm tired."

John sputtered.

"You're a tree, Hazza," he muttered. At his words, George groggily looked around. He saw everyone's concerned stares, and then looked down at his body.

"...oh," he said. John wanted to scream.

"George… you never told me you were a mythic," Brian muttered, something akin to hurt in his eyes.

"But 'm a human," George muttered.

"Humans don't turn into trees!" John screeched.

"I guess..." George said, slowly letting his body get engulfed by the tree again.

"Mal!" Brian barked, and in a blur, the giant wrapped his massive arms around George and heaved, uprooting him completely. Without any hesitation, Brian snapped his fingers and jerked a thumb back towards the direction of the hotel. "We'll sort this out later," he said. "Let's get going." He said it in such a calm yet firm voice, like a military captain. It almost made John forget that Mal was carrying George, as a tree, whom he had just pissed on, down the busy pavement and through a hotel. Brian's face was a cold mask, even when they got up and Paul was screaming about the naked half-tree half-George that Mal dumped on the bed.

John watched as everyone swarmed around George as the vast tangle of roots turned back into two fleshy legs.

"What happened?" Paul asked, already fretting over the younger lad.

"He's a tree," John simply said.

"No, I'm tired," George protested, seemingly unaware of everything that was happening. He fumbled about in the sheets before flopping out of the bed and onto the floor like a newborn fish. His legs were moving but without any coordination, like he had forgotten how to walk.

"Hey," John muttered, helping George up. "Where you tryna go?"

"Shower," George said and John tried not to flush as he led George to the bathroom, leaving the others to stare in shock and confusion.

_"—he's a nymph?"_

_"I think he's a dryad, actually..."_

_"...but Geo's a human, ain't he? He's—"_

_"—We'll discuss it after the show."_

John tried to ignore their hushed whispering, instead focusing on helping George bathe. 

"Did you know you could do that?" he asked.

George shook his head, and John noticed a new aroma around George. It was floral and bright, like blossoms and tangerines. 

"Can't believe you did that," George said after a few minutes of scrubbing himself.

"Had to wake you up somehow," John simply replied. "Y'know, you make a very pretty tree."

"...thanks?"

John chuckled to himself and waited for George to finish.

"You're not freaked out or anything?" George hesitantly asked.

"About what?"

"About… me."

"Can't say I am," John admitted. "You're still Geo, tree, or no."

The shower stopped, water dripping down the drain.

"Thanks, but, uh, John?"

"Yeah?"

"You didn't have to be in the bathroom with me," George said. 

John said nothing for a moment, staring at George's silhouette in the shower curtain.

"...we'll discuss it after the show."

He gave a wink and tried to saunter out of the bathroom like he didn't have a furious blush on his face.


End file.
